


Breviloquence

by Captain_Panda



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Drabble Sequence, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Rated T for language, Romance, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda
Summary: This is a love story.  Told in exactly 100 words.  Over, and over, and over again.Steve and Tony don't fall in love at first sight. In fact, Tony is sure that Steve will die before he breaks free from the chokehold S.H.I.E.L.D. has him in.Somehow, Steve doesn't die. And then he becomes a more permanent fixture in Tony's life.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 181





	Breviloquence

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to sentence starter lenders "needsmorememes" and "leneemusing" for providing the templates for this fic. The full lists are linked:
> 
> (1) https://needsmorememes.tumblr.com/post/188944010455/somethings-wrong-sentence-starters  
> (2) https://leneemusing.tumblr.com/post/179861137176/misc-sentence-starters
> 
> This fic is a melting pot of whump, fluff, and romance. Each drabble is exactly 100 words: not one word less, not one word more. This entire fic is actually one cohesive story, told in many snapshots. It's only quasi-canon compliant.
> 
> Enjoy the journey, my friends.
> 
> Yours,  
> -Cap'n Panda

  1. **“Oh, God, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.”**



Frowning at him like he was stupid or somethin’, Captain America said, “What?”

Gesturing eloquently at the trail of blood on the Tower’s floor, Tony snapped, “Hey, Walking Crime Scene, get the fuck outta here. _Rogers_ ,” Tony insisted, snagging him by a shoulder strap. “This isn’t multiple-choice. What in the _fuck_ —why are you _bleeding_?”

Tipping a shoulder, Rogers dug through the fridge and grunted, “GSW. I’ll clean it up.” He stole a smoothie.

Tony dug in his heels. Rogers dragged him, producing an awful screeching noise. “I will take you by force!” Tony warned.

“This seems normal,” Bruce observed.

  1. **“Stop squirming, I’m trying to help.”**



“My hands are steadier than yours,” Rogers retorted, reaching for the string.

“Fuck _you_ , I _work_ with my hands,” Tony snapped, kneeling on the lab floor and batting Rogers’ hand away. “And I know for a _fact_ you’d let this gaping wound remain open if I don’t finish, so _let me finish_.”

Growling, Rogers replied, “Won’t be open for that lon—hey!” He lunged forward; Tony squeaked as he was bowled over. “Easy!”

“Be _easy_ if you stopped _squirming!_ ”

Steaming, Rogers leaned back on his hands. “Goddamn unnecessary.”

“You’re goddamn unnecessary,” Tony fumed, stitching the wound on his arm again.

  1. **“Hang on, I got you.”**



“Thanks for the assist.”

“That’s it?”

Rogers looked up at him. “You want it in writing?” he asked, arm wound around Iron Man’s. “ _Thanks for the assist, Iron Man_?”

“Don’t have to be a jerk about it,” Tony grumbled, hovering over the harbor. “I could still make you swim to shore. Just say the word.” Pointedly, he moved one of his metal feet out from under Rogers’. Rogers’ grip crunched down. “ _Kidding_. I’m kidding.”

“Such a kidder,” Rogers deadpanned, switching to grip him around the neck. “My kidder.”

“Don’t choke me,” Tony joked.

“Then don’t drop me.” 

  1. **“Just lean on me; I’ll help you walk.”**



“Today, I earn my _Assisting the Elderly_ badge,” Tony preened, one arm under Rogers’ shoulders. “C’mon, Gramps.”

Limping alongside, Rogers husked out, “What goes around, comes around, Stark.” With his injured back still healing, a cane kept him upright, but he could scarcely _walk_ unaided. A wheelchair would suffice, but Tony was Captain America’s _buddy_. He was _glad_ to help. No nameless agent deserved the place of honor. 

Walking through S.H.I.E.L.D. with Captain America needing him felt like gratification, vindication.

 _You break your own. I’m still standing_.

Swallowing, abruptly sobered, Tony said, “C’mon, Cap. Let’s go home.” And they did.

  1. **“We should get that looked at.”**



“No,” Rogers croaked. Face flushed, eyes glazed, the infected wound on his hip taking its toll, Cap rasped, “Be fine. Heal up.”

“Uh huh,” Tony said, sitting on a couch opposite him. Cap seemed a bit wild, hunched over, head in hand, shirt torn off his back in a fit of pique. “Must’ve been something mean. You don’t usually have a problem with—”

Rogers didn’t listen. He leaned forward and vomited on the floor.

Standing, Tony declared, “Okay, that’s it.” Risking his own well-being, Tony approached and tugged Cap to his feet. “C’mon, Rogers—Steve.” And Steve went unprotestingly.

  1. **“Don’t tilt your head back, you’ll make your nosebleed worse!”**



Chucking a crumpled-up paper towel at him, Tony ordered, “Tilt your head _down_ , you bastard. Don’t drink it.”

Squinting at him, Steve muttered, “Thought you didn’t want me drippin’ on your floor.” 

“Oh, cute, you remembered that,” Tony said, rolling his eyes and walking over, gripping the back of Steve’s neck and tilting his head _down_ , dammit. “That’s what the paper towel is for. Listen to your elders.”

Steve made a nasally noise that resembled, “Smelters?”

“You snooze, you lose, buddy. You’re twenty-seven.” Letting go, stepping back, Tony added, “Quit playing around with 1500-year-olds; then we won’t have this problem.”

  1. **“Just sit up and breathe, okay?”**



Tony had awoken from more nightmares than he cared to remember. 

Since Afghanistan, a full month had not passed where he had not awoken at least once in a cold sweat, terrified of where he was. He knew what it was like. When he saw it, he considered leaving Steve alone. Steve’s demons were his own. Tony had his share; he didn’t need more. But seeing Steve curled up on the couch, breathing unsteadily, shivering a little, Tony knew it would be cruel to walk. 

So he dropped a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and gave it a furtive squeeze instead.

  1. **“Eh, you’ll be fine. I think.”**



“Give it to me straight, Doc,” Steve said, smiling as Tony made a huffy noise through his nose and continued inspecting his arm unhappily, “will I live?”

“ _Eh_ ,” Tony mumbled, stepping forward and tweaking the sling, “ _you’ll be fine. I think. Maybe_.”

“Comforting words,” Steve said, amusement softening. “You okay?”

Tony made the same huffy noise. “You’re gonna die. You know that? Up and die. If you keep this up.”

Brow furrowed, Steve said quietly, “Tony.”

“Don’t _Tony_ me,” Tony grumbled. “I invite you into my home, and you die on me before the lease is up. It’s rude.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Steve said, very soberly.

  1. **“Whatever you do, don’t go to sleep. Stay awake.”**



“I’m not kidding around,” Tony said, gripping Steve by the shoulders, shoving him upright against the couch, a rock lodged in his throat. “Eyes on me, Cap.”

“You have nice eyes,” Steve mumbled.

“How hard did you hit your head?” Tony wondered, horrified, using one hand to keep him propped up, reaching to feel along the blood-caked side of his head gingerly. “Goddammit, Rogers.”

“Steve,” Steve mumbled.

“Rogers, Steve, Captain Underpants,” Tony rattled off. “How the hell did you even get here?”

“Walked,” Steve mumbled, listing forward, forehead on Tony’s shoulder. “Ow.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, reeling, gripping his nape. “ _Ow_.”

  1. **“Oooooo. That looks painful.”**



“Hm?” Steve asked, tilting his head over the couch to look at Tony, fuzzy-eyed. “What?”

“That,” Tony said, gesturing at his own face. He’d expected Steve to bounce back from the concussion like he did all mortal wounds—with surprising zeal—but there was something about him not quite himself that made Tony hover. “No, don’t touch it.”

With sleepy defiance, Steve rasped his palm down his bruised cheek, making a soft noise. “Hey,” Tony chastised, catching the hand with his own. “What’d I say?”

“Don’t remember,” Steve admitted, eyes shut. “’mind me.”

 _Be still_ , he thought. “Shh,” he said.

  1. **“Oh, thank God! Don’t scare me like that!”**



Tony wasn’t used to a prison break. “Don’t _do_ that,” he ordered, hooking an arm around Steve’s and tugging him away from the railing. “It’s not impossible to fall, you know.”

“S’pretty,” Steve mumbled, leaning into the railing, giving it his weight, making him impossible to haul away. “Look at it, Tony.”

Tony did, taking in the nighttime skyline he knew so well. “Exquisite. You have a grade-two concussion. Get your ass—”

“So different,” Steve went on. “S’different, Tony.”

Tony’s heart beat hard in his chest. “You okay, big guy?”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled. “Just . . . miss it.”

  1. **“How the hell did you do this to yourself?”**



Steve looked at Tony with baleful eyes. “No,” Tony said. “Don’t horse-shit me. _How?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, and he sounded honest.

Annoyed and somehow charmed, Tony sighed, trying to understand how Cap had ended up _on top of_ the elevator. Not inside. No— _on top of_. “See, when I sleep-walk,” Tony grumbled, sweet-talking the system because it didn’t want to go anywhere with weight on the ceiling, reinforcing his _how in the fuck_ argument, “all I do is get a midnight snack.”

Steve said, “I’m sorry.” He even sounded sincere.

Tony got him out. “C’mon, monkey. Be free.”

  1. **“Hey, hey, stay with me, okay?”**



There would come a day, Tony was sure, when he would not care what happened in the life of Steve Rogers. It would be out of self-preservation. He would abandon all concern because the alternative, to care about him until he stopped being able to, until Steve Rogers stopped being a part of the equation of his life, was unfathomable. It was too painful to contemplate. 

Today was not that day.

“Stay with me,” Tony repeated into the sterile recovery room. Steve was hooked up to so many machines. A lifetime had passed since Tony Stark had known peace. _Please_.

  1. **“You stopped breathing.”**



And other tall tales Tony wished he had told—wished, because they were true. _You stopped breathing. So they put a tube down your throat. Thank God you weren’t awake for that. You would’ve killed somebody. Lucky you—they took it out. But you still didn’t wake up. Are you going to wake up? You’d better. You have to. If you don’t, I’m coming after you. I don’t know or care if there’s an after. If you die—I’m coming after you._ He reached for Steve’s hand, hesitated, then curled his fingers around Steve’s wrist. The hours dragged on interminably.

  1. **“You’re alive.”**



“Hey, buddy,” Tony said. Steve’s eyes tracked over slowly. A gap appeared in the wired void next to Steve’s sewn cheek. “Don’t speak,” Tony urged, afraid it might hurt him. _Three GSWs. Stabbed, left shoulder. Grade-two concussion._

“Tone—ee,” Steve rasped, breaking the word into two pieces. “Tone—ee.”

“Easy,” Tony warned him, curling a hand over Steve’s. It was ice-cold, despite being in the hospital for hours. _Near drowning. Found on the riverside of the Potomac with half a pint of water in his lungs_. “You’re okay,” he added, needing it to be so.

“Tone—ee,” Steve whispered again.

  1. **“Take deep breaths, you’ll be fine.”**



“Need ‘em more’n I do,” Steve said, hand squeezing Tony’s nape, arm slung over his shoulder. “Don’ worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Tony snapped, breathing fast. “I’m alert. Quick. Constant vigilance,” he added, indicating a rise in the pavement.

“Missed you, too,” Steve replied, voice tinged with affection. “Been, what—”

“Three months, nine days, no one’s counting.” He shouted, “J.! Lemme in!”

“I can see you, sir,” J. reminded. “Perhaps a deep brea—”

“Oh my God,” Tony grumbled. “I’m _not_ having a panic attack.” Then he turned, hugged Steve, and wheezed, “Just need five seconds.”

“You got it, Tony.”

  1. **“Arms don’t usually move like that. . . .”**



“Well, this one does,” Tony said, patting Dum-E on the arm. “Dum-E, fetch,” he added, chucking a crumpled-up paper ball away.

“See,” Tony narrated, “train a robot to fetch, you’re golden. Sight is a simulacrum of the brain.” Dum-E closed its claw around the ball, hoisting it aloft. “Dum-E has a memory bank. A visual narrative. He can _remember_ things.” Snatching the ball, he chucked it at Steve, who caught it deftly. “See, that? Took nine years to innovate.”

Steve mused, “Nine years? Tony Stark could do it in three.”

“Fuck you, I was _busy_ ,” Tony laughed, snatching it back.

  1. **“What happened to your leg?!”**



“Cramp,” Steve grunted. “S’fine.”

“This is why you need _Life Alert_ ,” Tony said, crouching in the sand beside him, a lifeguard whistle swinging from his neck. “See, like this.” He pressed a button on the side. One of his modified sand-crawling Roombas came skipping along at surprising speed. “Disaster averted,” Tony announced, popping the hood and sliding on a pair of dark blue aviators. “Granola?” He shook a box of _Star Wars_ Band-Aids with a smirk. “Kisses?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve grunted, “Cute. Real cute.”

“I’m adorable,” Tony agreed. “Oh, look, refreshments.” He tossed a Capri-Sun at Steve. “All yours.”

  1. **“Yep, that’s broken. How’d you manage that?”**



“Gifted.” Sitting at the table, Steve lowered his newspaper, his broken thumb clearly visible. “Need something?”

“I’d ask about the thumb, but honestly, I’m more curious about the newspaper,” Tony admitted.

Rolling his eyes, Steve replied, “Gas station.”

“Really?”

“Tone of surprise.”

“I thought gas stations went extinct thirty years ago. You know. With dinosaurs.”

“Thirty years ago,” Steve deadpanned. “Yeah, I read about that.”

“In the newspaper?”

“Mmhm.”

“. . . The thumb thing is gonna—”

“Sometimes,” Steve said, “a little mystery is good for the soul.”

“. . . Car door?”

“Didn’t say it.”

“Didn’t _deny_ it.”

  1. **“Here’s some ice.”**



“For your hubris,” Tony clarified, lofting a bag of frozen peas explanatorily.

Seated facing the sea, Steve responded, “Your way with words really moves me, Tony.”

“Thanks. I work very hard on them.” Chucking the bag of peas at him, Tony added, “Where’s my thank-you? House-guests are exhausting.”

“You know, Barton offered to let me bunk with him. You didn’t _have_ —”

“I can only handle one cowboy,” Tony deadpanned. “Besides, I need a compulsive cleaner around.”

Steve slanted a look at him. “Tony, _you’re_ a compulsive cleaner.”

“Exactly. We’ve got a professional clean-room operation going on. Keep it up.”

  1. **“You’re welcome, by the way.”**



“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, standing in the drive and looking him over seriously. “Are _you_ gonna be okay?”

Scoffing, Tony crossed his arms and reminded, “Professional bachelor. Scram. I’ll be fine.” He swallowed, then added, “Amped up security and everything. Nobody even knows this place is mine. Don’t blow my cover. Herbert.”

Scrunching up his nose, Steve said, “Don’t think I can pull off _Herbie_.”

“Of course not. Samson.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Steve said, extending a hand. Tony clasped it. Folded in for a hug, just for a moment. “Call if you need me, Tony.”

“Count on it.”

  1. **“You look like shit.”**



“Actually, this is for a cover,” Steve responded. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Right,” Tony said, staring at the screen. “I, too, look beat to shit for my business meetings.”

Frowning, Steve reached up and tugged on the string of an overhead light, revealing a familiar face, streaked not in chiaroscuro blues but in white-gold warmth. The camouflage streaks on his face were suddenly obvious. “Happy?” he asked, flicking off the light, plunging back into ghoulish darkness.

“No,” Tony admitted. “Where are you?”

“In a shed.”

“Where are you really?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“. . . Why’d you answer?”

“You called.”

  1. **“Wait, you were mugged?!”**



“ _No_ ,” Steve said patiently. “ _Lost a file. Sets things back_.”

“What kind of file?” Tony asked, swiveling in his chair. “Sic me on it, I’ll find it.”

“ _You can’t find it_ ,” Steve dismissed. Tony couldn’t see his face, but he could still hear him looking away. “ _I gotta go_.”

“Rogers, wait—”

Steve hung up. Annoyed, Tony ordered J.A.R.V.I.S., “Trace that last call. I wanna know where he is.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. responded in forty-eight minutes. “I cannot obtain a strong signal,” the A.I. admitted. “Satellite coverage is limited. Captain Rogers is somewhere in the Krasnoyarsk Krai province in Russia. Siberia, sir.”

  1. **“Is that a stab wound?"**



“You have a loose definition of a stab wound,” Steve said, lowering his left hand where it had been rubbing his mouth. The hand was wrapped in red-soaked bandages. It was like a smashed bottle wound; messy, everywhere. “It’s—why?”

“Concern for an old chap?” Tony tried, mouth dry. He was used to Steve’s anger, had clashed with him before, but it was the dark character of the thing that sobered him.

“Startin’ to cause problems, Tony,” Steve said. “Can’t keep duckin’ aside.”

“Then _pull out_. Whatever the hell this is—”

“Not an option,” Steve replied, ending the call.

  1. **“Okay—I'm not cleaning that up.”**



“Wasn’ askin’,” Steve said, sounding beleaguered. “Tony—”

Tony frowned at him. “You okay, sport? Bad lighting? Give me an overhead.”

Steve didn’t reach for the light in the shed this time, leaving himself in the darkness. His face had the same chiaroscuro blotchiness as before, but there was a dark mark near his eye that seemed new, pronounced. “Sit down,” Tony suggested.

Steve repeated softly, “Tony.”

“What?” Tony pressed, pacing, glad he didn’t have to hold up his phone, letting Dum-E handle the heavy-lifting. “What is it? Come _home_ ,” he demanded, sudden and earnest.

“I’m so sorry, Tony.”

  1. **“Easy, easy! Just lay down; you hit your head.”**



Steve fumbled, then crashed to the shed floor. Tony grimaced. “Where’s Romanoff?” Tony demanded.

Steve let out a humorless laugh and murmured, “Home. Hopefully.”

Terrible insight flashed over Tony. “You went _alone?_ ”

“Couldn’t risk it,” Steve said thickly, somewhere in the darkness. Tony couldn’t see him, only the metal ceiling. Arctic wind whistled nearby. One word tripped in his head: _Sibirskiye_. “Nobody goes in, nobody—gets hurt.”

“Goddammit, Rogers,” Tony gritted out. “This ends. _Now_. I’m pulling you out.”

“Don’ even know where I _am_ ,” Steve slurred, and he wasn’t wrong, but damn him for knowing.

“Then I’ll find you.”

  1. **“You probably have a concussion, so I wouldn’t be moving around too much if I were you.”**



“Tony,” Steve rasped. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Tony said loudly, standing in front of Dum-E and his screen even though the other side was still painfully devoid of human life. “Stop it. Where are you?”

“He killed . . .” He heard a deep breath, a tense exhale. “He killed your Pa. Your Ma.”

Blinking rapidly, staggering back a step, Tony said, “They died in a wreck twenty years ago. Focus up. Where—”

“It’s in the folder,” Steve went on, not listening. “It’s in the folder.”

“Shut up,” Tony snapped. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve whispered. 

  1. **“Can you walk on your own?”**



“Doesn’t matter. Just so you know, I’m putting a tracking anklet on you,” Tony ground out. “Get up.” He didn’t wait, sliding an Iron arm under Steve’s shoulders, hauling him upright. “You’ll be lucky this doesn’t cause an international incident. I don’t even know if Iron Man is _allowed_ in Russia.” He waited, but Steve didn’t answer. Eyes closed, his whole body remained uncomfortably still. Horror flooded Tony abruptly. He ordered, “Secondary vitals, J.”

Immediately, a 38-bpm heartrate appeared on the HUD, alongside a mess of other vitals. _Half-frozen_ barely covered it. He was _hibernating_. “Home. Home first. Yelling later.”

  1. **“How many fingers am I holding up?”**



Blinking in visible disarray at Tony, pupils still disconcertingly dilated, Steve mumbled, “S’a weird dream.”

“Not a dream,” Tony retorted, crouched on the hardwood, lowering his own hand. “You’re lucky. And by lucky, I mean _shouldn’t-be-alive_ lucky.”

Blinking again before screwing his eyes shut, Steve rasped, “Turn th’ ligh’s down. Then I’ll talk.”

Wondering if it was a ploy—it’d be comical to fly him all the way back to the States, only for Steve to knock him out and take off as soon as he regained consciousness—Tony nevertheless rose and obliged. 

“Talk,” Tony ordered.

“How’d ‘ou get ‘ere?”

  1. **_Free Space_**



“I’m asking the questions,” Tony retorted. “What were you doing in Siberia?”

“Lookin’ for someone,” Steve replied, mashing the words together. Lukenfursumun. Could’ve been a city in Sweden. “Foun’ ‘im.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a reunion,” Tony deadpanned, giving his own knees a break and flopping on the floor, sensing it would not be a short interrogation.

“Looked at m’,” Steve mumbled, eyes squeezed shut despite the darkness, “like he didn’ even know me.” He swallowed. “I though’ . . . after . . .” He turned baleful eyes on Tony. “’m sorry, Tony. He—he killed them.”

“Bull- _shit_.”

  1. **“I thought you were dead!”**



“Tony. . . .”

“ _I thought you were dead!_ ” Tony howled, all the terrified rage inside him bursting forward. Steve blinked lethargically at him, still slumped on the floor with his back against the couch. “I pulled you out of a _woodshed_ in _Siberia_ , and I don’t—” Seething, he whispered, “I don’t know what you _saw_ in your goddamn _fever-dream_ , but I don’t _wanna hear it_.” Jabbing a finger against Steve’s sternum, he ordered, “You ran, you nearly got yourself killed, you—”

Eyes shimmery, Steve rasped, “I’m so sorry, Tony.” Then he leaned forward and curled a bear arm around him, heavy, encasing.

  1. **“You’re getting blood on my clothes."**



“Get off of me,” Tony seethed, not moving an inch in his hold. “ _Get off of me_.” He shoved, but Steve did not release him. “ _You’re getting blood on my clothes_ ,” he snapped, reaching for any cause. Steve was—dripping red from the bandage unfurling from his hand, but it was the least of Tony’s concerns. 

Tony shook, hard. Both hands rose to push but tangled in Steve’s shirt instead. Tony gasped, and Steve gripped him harder, crushed him against his cold, stiffly moving chest.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

Tony let out a terrible noise, whispered back, “Shut _up_ ,” and buried a sob against his shoulder.

  1. **“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?”**



“Doesn’ hurt, Tony,” Steve mumbled, resting his cheek against the side of Tony’s head. “Y’okay?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Tony gritted out, grinding his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t have a fucking clue. I flew to _Siberia_. Do you know what my leftover suit charge was? 0.2%. That’s nine-and-a-half minutes of flight time. Cutting it _kinda close_ , buddy. We almost walked home.”

“S’okay, Tony.” Steve squeezed his nape, shifting so he could enfold him more securely in his arms, until Tony was very nearly sitting in his lap. “I got you.”

Oddly choked up, Tony said, “That’s my line.”

  1. **“You thought I was dead?”**



Sighing his soul out, Tony said, “No, I thought you were hibernating for your health.” Shuffling backwards, determined to get a hold of himself before he melted and stayed on the floor forever, Tony ordered, “C’mon. I need a drink. You need a drink. We’re getting drunk. I don’t care,” he added, pinching his brow, “that you can’t get drunk. You shouldn’t be drinking anyway. You have a concussion. Don’t argue with me. Everyone argues with me. I’m not stupid.”

Steve got his feet underneath him. “You’re not stupid,” he promised, looking at him earnestly, intently. “Not even close.”

  1. **_i wish i knew how to talk about it._**



Huddling for warmth was one of the most effective treatments for hypothermia. As a testament to progress, Steve shivered like a ferret against him, constant little earthquake tremors that made him hard to hold. Tony didn’t hold him; he just leaned into Steve, lounging on the futon between his spread legs, one planted on the floor, the other extended along the length of the futon. They had five blankets surrounding them. The only overture to modesty was brief.

Cradling a Bordeaux in one lolling hand, Tony drank deeply and listened to the sea, feeling like nothing and everything had changed. 

  1. **_you don’t have to talk, we can just sit together_.**



Steve’s heartbeat strongly under his ear. Tony wasn’t sure how he’d ended up there. It just seemed like gravity—the place where he landed when he didn’t fight impulse. Steve’s breaths were deep, even, washing in with a tidal rhythm, gusting out with the same ease. If he wasn’t asleep, he was close; the steady _thump, thump_ was a sign. His warm fingers stayed pressed against Tony’s bare flank, comfortingly present. 

_I ever let you fall?_ they seemed to say, flexing briefly, a brush of fingertips, soothing himself or Tony. _I ever let you wander too far into the deep?_

  1. **_i don’t want to be alone anymore._**



Tony arose.

He wandered, he paced. He considered calling somebody, anybody, _hello out there, can anybody hear me?_ He felt cold inside, cold outside, so he returned to the blankets, curling Steve’s arm around himself. He jerked when Steve rumbled in a lowered octave voice, “What’s on your mind?”

 _You, actually. Goddamn thorn in my side, you know that?_

Should kick him to the curb. 

The thought churned in his stomach. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Steve a third time. 

Wedging his arms around him as emphatically as he could, Tony reflected simply, “Feels good. Having you home.”

  1. **_i wish i could hate you._**



The whole sorry story spilled out in technicolor wonder.

Seventy-two years ago, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was taken captive by Hydra agents and initiated into their _winter soldier_ program. Outside the organization, the _winter soldier_ was nothing more than a ghost story, a dark mirror image of the successful super-soldier program.

But it was no story. And when Howard Stark came too close to reviving its greatest challenger, the super-soldier program, the _winter soldier’s_ finest candidate was sent to kill him and his wife on the night of December 16, 1991.

Tony retched. Steve sat beside him, and said nothing.

  1. **_take a seat, we’re gonna be here a while_.**



Rubbing both temples, hunched over himself at the table in their little compound, their own hiding hole from the rest of the world, Tony rasped, “You think Barnes is still in there?”

Steve stared at him like he was crazy. He felt crazy. “Don’t ask if I’m okay,” Tony snapped. “ _Do you think he’s still in there?_ ” he repeated.

Steve swallowed. He looked smaller, hunched forward in Tony’s clothes. The results were surprisingly positive, even though Tony’s black hoodie would not survive if he zipped it. Working the words around his jaw, he said simply, “Yes.” And Tony believed him.

  1. **_i need you to trust me._**



Bringing Barnes in wouldn’t be easy.

Steve’s lone-wolf approach was suicidal, but it had produced results. Going at it tactically was—“Doesn’t carry a phone,” Steve explained, world-weary and out of options. “Won’t go to a safehouse. I blew his cover in Krasnoyarsk. He won’t return.” Stuffing a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth, he added, “Gotta lure him out.”

Harrumphing and stepping up behind Steve, Tony folded his arms on top of Steve’s head and said briefly, “Whatever _doesn’t_ get you killed, floats my boat.”

Steve brushed a hand along his arm, murmuring, “Worry more about _you_ than me.”

  1. **_i missed/miss you._**



Steve wasn’t the guy who did the dishes, no: he did the dishes, organized the cabinets, offered to walk the dog—(“I don’t have a dog.”

“Really? Seem like the kinda guy who’d have a dog.”)—

And still found time to say, “Shouldn’t be all alone in a place like this.”

 _I’m not alone, I have you_ , Tony didn’t reply.

Directing Steve’s ambitions to clean the chimney to the guest bedroom instead was a rote exercise because, in the end, when Tony said, “I get cold,” and meant _I get lonely_ , Steve didn’t tell him to turn up the thermostat. 

  1. **_he won’t listen to me_.**



Steve Rogers was exasperating.

He asked, “You okay?” and saw past _I’m fine_ , because he knew Tony woke up three nights out of seven in a cold sweat, gripping the bed. Steve was there, a buoy, an arm tethered around Tony’s waist.

He asked, “You sure?” and saw past _I’m okay_ , because he felt Tony’s heart race in open waters as Tony clung to him. He was there, a buoy, an arm tethered around Tony’s back.

He asked, “You need anything?” and saw past _No_ , because he was the rebuttal, gentlest of retorts: _I need you_.

And Steve was there.

  1. **_let me do this for you._**



Steve didn’t scar. His hyperactive metabolism forgave all mortal wounds, leaving a blank canvas behind. To simply look at him, you would never know he’d ever been hurt. He was human perfection, a Greek statue come to life.

But it ached, underneath. Tony knew it ached because Steve soaked invisible injuries in hot water, crushed ice packs against unblemished skin, gnashed Tylenol for unseen agony. 

Tony didn’t push him to explain, _Where’s the bleed?_ because there wasn’t one.

So Tony brought ice and heat, and he drew constellations against marbled shoulders, less to correct than to simply comfort, _I’m here_. 

  1. **_is there anything else you want to say to me?_**



Trouble in paradise wore different robes. S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra—one and the same, after their dismantling. 

The Winter Soldier. 

They talked about Barnes a lot, preoccupied, wandering hands interrupted by thoughtful frowns. _You think he’s still in there?_

Tony thought, _No_ , and said, _Yes_ , because he was afraid of what would happen to their little happiness if he negated even once.

Steve knew. He _knew_ because he knew everything about Tony, how he made his coffee— _long black, actually, but that’s only in Australia_ —how he liked to be _held_ , and how he lied. Steve knew. He just didn’t say anything.

  1. **_“tell me something happy.”_**



“Ma was full of laughter,” Steve mused, “like a teapot, to the brim. She loved to laugh, like the men loved to smoke in the yard. At the big rain and the good music. Laughed when the window broke after those boys busted it on accident. She was always one step away from it.”

Steve rocked on the hammock; Tony rocked with him. “It was good bread. Crackled when you split it. Cost ya a nickel. Best money you’d ever spend. Dough melted—heaven. And you’d hear the doorbell ringin’ as people came by and the world felt very alive.”

  1. **_“promise me.”_**



Steve watched him with opal blue eyes. Noses nearly touching. One arm folded over Tony’s waist, palm fanned low on his back, mirroring his pose. He had an ankle hooked around Tony’s, a warm promise. _I’m here_. Tony didn’t know how long _here_ was, or where _here_ could possibly go, but he felt something tight well up in his chest, something shimmery and warm, hopeful and hurting at once.

 _Don’t go_.

Shuffling closer, he burrowed under the arm Steve lifted, crooked to cradle his neck, cover the back of his head. “Shh,” Steve hushed. “I’m here.”

And there, Steve stayed.

  1. **_“i’m on your side.”_**



“We’re gonna get him,” Tony said, looking at Steve in his Iron Man armor. “Together.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Standing in the hideaway hotel, Steve added, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You think I want _you_ to get hurt?” Tony retorted. “Look.” Steve did, shifting somber eyes to him. “I’m—” He swallowed. “ _I’m_ ready. Are _you?_ ”

For the briefest moment, he thought Steve would say _No_. He almost hoped for it, had a, _Great! Let’s go home_ ready.

Then Steve said, “As I’ll ever be.” And Tony doubled down.

“Then let’s go get this sonuvabitch.”

  1. **“ _i’ve got your back, okay?”_**



Tucked away from the ashes of the fight, Steve planted his forehead against Tony’s metal shoulder. “Did good,” he announced raggedly, “did real good.”

“Are you—” Tony began, arms clasped around him. “Is this—Steve?”

“They’ll do right by him. Right?”

Tony swallowed. “Yes.”

Steve swayed backwards, bleeding from _somewhere,_ slicking the pavement. Stumbling, Steve caught himself on the armor. “Easy, tiger,” Tony chided, slinging his arm under Steve’s shoulders, then under his legs, too. “I’ve got you.”

Steve rumbled, “One of our guys—got me.” He laughed shortly. “Don’t tell ‘em. It’d break their hearts.”

“Martyr,” Tony managed.

  1. **“ _please, tell me you have a plan.”_**



“I do,” Steve said, sitting up on the couch, cupping Tony’s face in both hands, and kissing him deeply. Tony melted, feeling his shoulders settle, a tension he hadn’t consciously kept sizzling out as he curled a hand around Steve’s nape. “Starts there,” Steve mumbled, nose brushing against his.

“Ends there,” Tony corrected, kissing him again, feeling Steve breathing against him. “I love you,” he said seriously.

Blinking ocean blue back at him, Steve murmured, “Don’t know what to do with how much I love you, Tony. Feels like I might never do anything else.”

“Then don’t,” Tony said simply.

  1. **“ _stay with me tonight.”_**



“I want to know you,” Tony said, lying on the sand with his head on Steve’s belly. “I want to know you the way you know me. I want to know . . . whether you like coffee, or if you just drink it because I do. I want to know if you’re actually a workaholic or if you’ve never had a proper vacation. I want to know what your favorite colors are.” Reaching for Steve’s hand, he mused, “I want to know what you draw. What you want.”

Drawing their joined hands to his lips, Steve murmured, “Easy. You.”

  1. **_“don’t go.”_**



“You need to know. Who I am. _What_ I am.”

“I do,” Steve said, framing him on the beach, kissing down his throat.

“Neurotic. Self-absorbed. Narcissistic.” Curling a hand in Steve’s hair, Tony directed, “Look at me. I’m a wreck. You’re. . . .” He swallowed, at a loss. “You.”

Steve quirked both eyebrows, amused. Tony eased his grip. Steve ducked down again, nuzzling between throat and shoulder, resting his weight on either side of Tony. “You’re beautiful,” Steve murmured. “Not a wreck. Just alive.”

“Say it—five hundred more times. Then I’ll believe it,” Tony croaked, holding him tightly.

  1. **_“talk to me.”_**



“The more earnestly you say it,” Tony managed, “the less I _can_.” He cleared his throat, perilously close to tears. Hiccupping, he shoved the covers back. “I need a drink.”

Steve pressed up behind him, tugging him into a brief, tough-guy-shattering embrace. The sob curled in his chest jumped to the base of his throat. “I love you,” Steve murmured, letting him go, but Tony turned around, hooking his hands around Steve’s neck, stifling desperate noises against his throat. “I love you,” Steve repeated, curling around him like he could protect him from demons he had never seen that way.

  1. **_“i like seeing you smile.”_**



Tony’s poker face faltered. “Steven,” he began. “What is this?”

“It’s Dum-E’s birthday,” Steve replied, sliding the homemade cake forward, complete with a pack of candles. “J.A.R.V.I.S. said so.”

The tight feeling in Tony’s throat grew. “You asked J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

Steve said, “You okay, buddy?”

Reaching for the pack of candles to distract himself, Tony checked the count and informed, “He’s 29.”

“Almost as old as me,” Steve said, beaming as he produced a second pack, for a grand total of forty. “We have a fire extinguisher, should it come to that.”

Swallowing tears, Tony said, “I really fucking love you.”

  1. **“ _i thought you’d like this.”_**



“Uh oh,” Tony deadpanned, shaking the paper-wrapped object violently— _after_ confirming it wasn’t made of knives. “It’s soft,” he declared.

Lounging on the floor, Steve smiled. “Don’t call you a genius for nothing, do they?”

Chucking the gift at him, Tony said anxiously, “You open it. It’s your present.”

“It’s not gonna bite,” Steve assured. “Go on.”

Tony took it, then unwrapped it with speed. He stared at the hoodie, well-worn and secondhand soft. Burying his face in it, he breathed in _Steve._ “Oh, my God. I love you.”

“Seemed like something you’d like,” Steve beamed. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

  1. **_“walk with me?”_**



They reveled in each other.

Tony asked, “Do you miss it?”

Pacing alongside him, hands swinging lazily between them, Steve responded, “No.” Then, smile just visible in the moonlight, he added, “No, I don’t.” He explained: “I still love it. What I was. The people. But I love this, too.” He squeezed Tony’s hand. “I want to figure it out again. Even if I don’t know what happens next. I didn’t know then, either.”

“C’mere,” Tony said, halting him, cupping his face. “I love you,” he said seriously.

Steve smiled. “I love you, too.”

And it lasted, and lasted forever.


End file.
